


I Don't Smoke

by Space_gays_that_arent_in_space



Series: Hell On Earth is Right By Your Side [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Kismesissitude, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Angst, Angst and Porn, Asshole Vriska Serket, Dead Aradia Megido, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hate Sex, Humanstuck, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idk this is just Terezi Sadboy Hours Inspired by a convo, Mental Instability, Minor Sollux Captor/Aradia Megido, Minor Terezi Pyrope/Karkat Vantas, Minor Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, POV Terezi Pyrope, Porn With Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Sadstuck, Semi-Public Sex, Stream of Consciousness, Terezi Pyrope Isn't Blind, They're both terrible to each other, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Kismesissitude, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/pseuds/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space
Summary: When you wake up in the back of his van, you feel a sense of shame so deep that it almost makes you want to release whatever’s been in your stomach for the last twenty four hours. You don’t though, you settle with the stale taste of Faygo in your mouth and the sense of sadness that always follows the embarrassment. It’s like a shame hangover, and a bit of a real one. You’re in his boxers and nothing else, sat on top of the dirty mattress he calls a bed.This isn’t the first time that you’ve woken up here, far from it, actually. You’ve been here so many times, too many times to count, in this exact position. You felt when he got up earlier, when his cold hands stopped tracing shapes into your skin. He likes to play like you’re lovers sometimes, that you don’t do this because of something that is inherentlywrongabout the two of you.
Relationships: Gamzee Makara & Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Terezi Pyrope, Terezi Pyrope & Karkat Vantas, Terezi Pyrope & Vriska Serket, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket
Series: Hell On Earth is Right By Your Side [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149941
Comments: 24
Kudos: 25





	I Don't Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so tired. Happy Holidays.

When you wake up in the back of his van, you feel a sense of shame so deep that it almost makes you want to release whatever’s been in your stomach for the last twenty four hours. You don’t though, you settle with the stale taste of Faygo in your mouth and the sense of sadness that always follows the embarrassment. It’s like a shame hangover, and a bit of a real one. You’re in his boxers and nothing else, sat on top of the dirty mattress he calls a bed. 

This isn’t the first time that you’ve woken up here, far from it, actually. You’ve been here so many times, too many times to count, in this exact position. You felt when he got up earlier, when his cold hands stopped tracing shapes into your skin. He likes to play like you’re lovers sometimes, that you don’t do this because of something that is inherently _wrong_ about the two of you. He’s made of lies. Made of secret imaginings that don’t make any sense and infuriate you to a degree that leaves you brainless. Then you’re kissing him because you’re so mad and he’s kissing you back and grabbing you all over like he’s never touched before. He’s intoxicating, some sort of drug that you could never get sober from. You end up covered in spit and sweat and your own shame. You can see him from where you are, sitting on the edge of the van, ripping from that ugly bong that seems to be as much a staple as the mattress. He’s facing away from you, and from this perspective he looks like a nightmare, big and tall and dark. Nothing about him is recognizable from this angle, but when is anything? He is one, a monster, a nightmare. He’s a nightmare you constantly subject yourself to because it feels so good and you just can’t figure out why you won’t just stop, and each and every time you try to leave-leave and never come back-you find yourself right back here. Sitting on a dirty mattress while the fall air leaves goosebumps all over your body, dressed in nothing but things that remind you of him. You have to hunt for your clothes, embarrassingly enough, and you fail to find your panties which means that you’re going home in clown boxers. 

You wash your mouth out with a flat forty from last night and spit it on to the asphalt. He smirks at you. His eyes are deep and dark and heavy, like an abyss. It’s ugly. All of this so so ugly and it is the least logical thing you’ve ever done. 

When you check the time, it’s 6am. You have an hour till you have to get to school, an hour won’t be long to wash off this shame hangover. You hate yourself for this. You hate him for all of this, even still, when you look at the way the sunrise shines bright and fiery behind him, you know you’ll be back here again, soon enough. You get home to a note from your mother, probably from last night, the usual about staying at the firm. The pen she writes in is red and her handwriting is the pretty cursive that has littered your life for longer than you can remember. The ink is dry now, too long since she’s written on it. She probably wrote it for you yesterday afternoon- yesterday while you were with him. The house is cold and empty, it’s been like this for months since Latula moved out. You miss her. You’ve missed her since you took her to the airport and since your last call on the phone and since forever. She’s so cool, always the raddest girl in the room and you’ve wanted nothing more for your entire life than to be that rad., Instead, you’re screwing around behind Karkat’s back with his best friend. 

You don’t really remember how things became like this with Gamzee. He was Karkat’s friend, just a background staple of your group and nothing more. You’d texted a few times, played games, joked around, but there was never anything more between you. Never anything that could have clued you into any of this before it happened. He’s intoxicating, like a nightmare that you can’t wake up from mixed with the warmth of a blanket in the morning. There are moments between the two of you, moments between the suffocating kisses and the sex that makes you wonder if maybe you’ll be incapable of experiencing pleasure when it comes in hand with kindness that you can see something in his eyes. It’s unreadable, and you can’t help but think that maybe it’s good that you don’t understand it. You can’t help but think that maybe if you understood him better than all of this would come crashing down and you would see something you don’t want to know. You can’t help but think that maybe all of this is some sort of karmic punishment for all the deeds you’ve ever done. You’re a bad person sometimes, you know you are. There is no wondering when it comes to your actions and the validity of them. You’re a bad person and so is he and you take that badness and you’re bad for each other, but you like the torture. You like the way he punishes you and you punish him, because you both deserve it. 

You hate him as much as you hate yourself, or maybe even more. 

You walk into your bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, your eyes look sunken and your neck is covered in marks. You know your body looks worse, know that it’s covered in bites that will scab and bruises that will turn an ugly sort of purple in the days to come. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to shower, a part of you that can’t face the concept of seeing what he’s done in the light. It’s easier, under the cover of darkness, when it’s just you and him in his van, feeling his teeth break your skin and listening to the way that he groans when your nails bite into him. It’s easier when you feel the way that van rocks under his weight and the cold of his hands when you can’t see your own skin. It’s easier when your head is swimming and the air with the heady scent of him and his smoke and his gummy sweet incense. 

It’s easier when you don’t have to think about the consequences. 

It’s easier when you don’t have to think about how angry you are. 

You’re angry. 

You’re so so angry. 

You’re so fucking angry because you know why you’re doing this and you hate it. You hate that you need him so much and you hate that you’re using him to replace what you lost. You hate that he makes everything sting just like she did. It hurts so good and so bad and you know that there is a part of you that thinks you deserve this. That _knows_ you deserve this. 

You end up not showering. You wear your favorite dragon hoodie and put on a pair of underwear that doesn’t make your skin crawl, you rewear your jeans from yesterday, too, just to complete the outfit that is so emblematic of your suffering. Then, you’re ready. It doesn’t matter that the light hurts your eyes, or that you feel sticky and dirty all over. You’re dressed enough to grab your bag and walk to school. Karkat is waiting for you on the corner, like always. You’re hiding it from him, both of you are, even though he’s his best friend and the two of you have known each other since you were kids. You know he wouldn't be able to take it, or maybe you wouldn’t be able to. You know you couldn’t take it, seeing that sense of disappointment on his face as he realized what a shitty pair of friends the two of you are. You like the way he looks at you now, suspect and teasing, like he knows you’re just waiting for the chance to get the jump on him for something, even if he doesn’t know what yet. 

It’s easy, walking with Karkat. It’s easy to forget your disgust and your hate and your sadness because he takes it all from you. Not in the sense that he makes you that happy, though he does make you feel slightly better about everything going on, but instead because he just talks so much about himself and your friends. It’s weird, how Karkat chooses to take so much blame for everyone else’s problems, it’s like he’s got a fetish for it or something. Karkat has to take on everyone’s problems and attribute them to himself just because he’s got a big fat masochist and just won’t admit it. It’s really the only logical answer. A thought like that would make you laugh-should make you laugh-make you laugh loud enough to get Karkat’s attention and have him harass you into telling him what you’re laughing at before he throws a fit, but it doesn’t. Instead, you bury your hands into your pockets and walk a little bit faster. 

You laugh at Karkat while you walk, many times, but when you do none of it feels honest. Each time you laugh you feel like it sounds hollow, something just to keep up appearances. It is. You know that all of this is a performance and the only moment that you’re ever really honest is when you’re with _him_. Everything you do feels like a lie now, a means to an end, and not the kind that you like. 

You two are separated almost immediately after you arrive, you always have been. Karkat goes to sit with Sollux and Dave and you go right to the auditorium. You used to go sit with some of the other girls, a whole big section of the floor containing you and your whispers. You remember playing cards with Vriska, Aradia, and Nepeta, laughing at bad jokes and possible couplings. You remember when you used to feel at home with everyone and you didn’t have to keep your eyes out for brown skin and blonde hair. 

Gamzee isn’t really apart of the drama club, at least, not to your knowledge. Though saying that would imply that you know more than the barest of facts about him. You know that he’s at or around the school most days and yet never attends a class, you know this mostly because he almost always is available when you want him, and you know he’s been living out of his van for at least the last six months. You don’t know why, but you do know that you’ve watched the van become more and more full of useless things that he tries to call miracles. None of it matters to you. It’s not your business and he seems happy with it anyway (idiot he is) and you hate how happy he is living out of his van. It’s like nothing in the world even matters to him. The world is just built to accommodate to him, you guess. You hate that he gets to live so freely, that he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants without anyone saying anything. You hate that stupid smile he always has and the way that he talks. You throw your bag into a chair and see him sitting right in the front row, hair ratty and ugly and awful. You hate that you used to sit with Vriska and Aradia in the mornings. You hate that you miss playing card games with them and stealing Vriska’s dice. You hate that Aradia is dead. You hate that you can’t bring yourself to speak to Vriska anymore. You hate that everything has fractured around you and you can ‘t bring yourself to do anything but sit in hiding with some clown who you can’t stand. You hate that you’re like this-that you’re walking up to him and opening your mouth to make a snide remark about how ugly he smells today. You hate the look on his face. You hate. You hate and hate and hate and hate until you’re full of nothing but hate and you feel his hands pulling at you, pulling you right into his lap. 

He drags you close to him only to grab your jaw tight. It makes you ache and you like it that way. You like it when he tightens his grip on you and you immediately brace yourself on his shoulders. You press your nails deep into the thin fabric of his shirt, like your nails could cause pinpricks. 

He kisses you. His breath tastes like weed and faygo and a sickly sweet kind of rot. You kiss him back, biting at his bottom lip as hard as you can. You can taste his blood in your mouth and his hand slides right down to your throat, squeezing. Sometimes when you two are like this you imagine someone walking in, catching the way you two are with each other. It’s the most horribly kept secret in all of your friend group, and yet nothing has been confirmed. You prefer it that way, prefer that you can keep your deniability.You imagine dying, too. You imagine Gamzee choking you so hard that you faint-that you fall to the ground and stop breathing. You think about him having to explain that it was an accident-that you two just do this sometimes. You imagine and you wonder and you think of if Gamzee would care or even take responsibility for your death. You think about Aradia. You think about dying and seeing Aradia and maybe asking her if she hates you-if she’s disappointed in what you’ve done and how you’ve acted-if she’s even been watching. You think about your last words to her-what you wish they were. Gamzee’s other hand moves right up your sweatshirt and you resist the urge to grab his wrist. He touches your sides, fingers calloused and delicately running up up up on your skin. You kiss him harder, like you can feed him all your anger. Your hands move, going right to his hair and grabbing tight enough for you to hopefully get a few pieces out. He groans into your mouth. 

You remember the only time you kissed Vriska. 

Her lips were soft and tasted like chicken and spice. You remember being on her bed, remember how close she held you, how soft her hands were. You remember that divine feeling of torture, that promise that it would always be the two of you. You remember how your heart raced and how everything smelled like _her_. She laughed the whole time, like it was all a joke. You laughed too because maybe it was. Maybe everything was a joke to you because when you’re two powerful women there’s nothing in the world that isn’t funny, or maybe it was because you had shared an entire bottle of her mother’s nice red wine. It didn’t matter either way though, what mattered was you and her. Scourge Sisters forever and all that. 

You pull away finally, only to bring your mouth to Gamzee’s neck and bite into it as hard as you can. This time he grabs you hard enough to bruise, you taste more of his blood in your mouth. It tastes good, and when you begin to suck a mark into his neck you feel a sense of satisfaction mixed with warmth pooling right down to your core. You know he can tell, even if you don’t know how he does it. He moves his hand from your neck and down to your bony ass, pinching you _hard_. You yelp into his neck, only to suck harder as a response. All of this is so so ugly. You can’t believe yourself. All you’re doing is sitting here dry humping a clown like some sort of stupid fucking moron with nothing better to do. Gamzee’s hand slides up and down against your ass, like he’s trying to comfort you or something. Ridiculous. 

You remember when Vriska killed Aradia. 

You remember sitting in Eridan’s beach house, drinking beers with and playing cards with Karkat, Nepeta, and Feferi. You remember Sollux bursting into the house in tears, wailing, screaming that something had happened to her and when Vriska came in not long after she was silent. She was holding herself, arms wrapped tight around her torso and eyes glued to the ground. She had nothing to say, nothing to mention even though she had just been out there with the three of them. Aradia had been fine just a little bit ago, you remember sitting in the bathroom, watching her from the edge of the bathtub while she rambled on about life and death and ghosts and destiny just like always. You remember her pretty red bathing suit under the fluorescents and how she had to adjust her tits in it because they kept sliding out. You remembered so much about Aradia then, just as you watched Vriska. She wouldn’t meet your eyes. Sollux was frantic on the phone with the police, sobbing and pleading with them to do something. His lisping had gotten so bad that the police couldn’t tell what the hell he was saying. You felt sick to your stomach when Vriska finally met your eyes-when you could see everything you needed to-when you knew what she had done. 

Gamzee’s hand that isn’t on your ass finally plants on your chest, grabbing what little you have to call a breast. You aren’t wearing a bra, you never do. He said once that he respected that about you. It made you feel warm inside in a way that made you as sick as you were affectionate. He leans up to the shell of your ear and you brace yourself for his voice. 

”You know lawsis, a motherfucker really does love when you get all up into that most mirthless of sorrows. There’s just something about the taste of your motherfucking weakness that gets a brother’s pusher flowing all kinds of wicked ways.” 

His hand drifts upward and flicks your nipple, you let out a shuddering sigh and press down against him. 

”Shut up Gamzee, all of this coming from stupid drifter living out of his van really doesn’t pack the same punch that you think it does.” 

That’s the thing though, it does, and he knows it does. He knows that everything that comes out of his mouth bothers you, and you hate that he knows. He rolls his hips upward and you bite down on his neck again, resisting the urge to make a sound. You think about Vriska again-think about the way she tried to excuse it all to you, like she wasn’t the one who got Aradia to jump. 

”I didn’t think she’d take me seriously.” 

That’s the one that stands in your mind most prominently. All the other excuses were bullshit, everything about Sollux not stopping her and Eridan just sitting there smoking the whole time was frivolous, but to watch her shift the blame on to the dead girl herself made you want to puke-makes you want to puke to this very day. You won’t talk to her anymore. She tries to call you, tries to reach out and tell you that she’s sorry like that’ll do anything, but you know she isn’t. She can’t be. 

She didn’t go to the funeral. She hasn’t apologized to Sollux or Aradia’s family. To this day, she refuses to even take the blame completely. She sidesteps, always, like it’s something that was inevitable that she’d do-like she wasn’t the conductor in all of it. She doesn’t do anything to prove that she’s sorry- that she’s learned anything. Instead, she just expects you to take it just like you’ve taken everything else she’s given you during your friendship. That’s all Vriska ever does, she scars people, harsh and ugly, only to turn around and expect them to have her back-to love her again. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t take any of it anymore. 

You kiss Gamzee again, hard and aggressive. You won’t let yourself cry-not in front of him-not when he hasn’t earned it. Your hands are back in his hair, greasy and dirty as it is. You pull harder and harder each second and feel his mouth shift into a wince. Good. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, just hard enough for the pain to outweigh the pleasure. You bite at his bottom lip again, this time making sure you can taste blood. You’re grinding on each other in perfect sync, your down matching his up and vice versa. You feel disgusting. You’re caked in grime from being with him before and now you’re slurping up the syrupy taste of Faygo from his mouth while you think about all the same things. Things you could have changed had you been better. 

You’ve never really been good enough though, even when you thought you were you were just screwing things up for everyone else. You didn’t realize how drunk Aradia was-you didn’t realize you’d been so close with someone who felt so little-you didn’t realize how dangerous it would be to get swept up with a 6’6 clown who does nothing but make you hurt in the same way she did. He knows just what to say-just how to push your every button and you keep coming back for more. You need him. You’re addicted to him and the taste of his ugly soda and uglier words and the ugliest personality you’ve ever encountered in your life. 

Gamzee’s hand moves from your ass to the front of your jeans. Your hips lift just enough for it to slide in once they’re unbuttoned. You hate how wet you are for him. Hate how big his hands are and how his fingers know just the right way to rub your lips. You press your face into his neck and grind down, feeling him tease you. It feels good, better than good. He slides a finger in and you bite your lip instead of moaning. You’re being so stupid, letting a guy you barely even know-barely even like-barely even trust finger fuck you in the auditorium. You wish you could imagine someone kinder doing this to you, someone who cares. 

Karkat. 

It’s as gross a thought as it is one that leaves you clenching around him. You’ve loved Karkat for years, if you’re being honest. He’s been one of your best friends since forever and right up until middle school you were just certain the two of you would end up together, but you didn’t. 

You didn’t because Karkat is an asshole and an idiot and kind of really mean even when it’s not on purpose. Karkat isn’t a prince, he’s a flawed shitty guy who you’ve stayed latched to since you were kids. It doesn’t matter that you’ve resigned those feelings to oblivion, or that your feelings for Vriska burn hotter and brighter than your ones for Karkat ever could. You have an affection for him. An affection that makes the guilt you feel after being with Gamzee overwhelming. He’s Karkat’s best friend. You know that he is, you see them together constantly when Gamzee takes the liberty to show up to school properly. Karkat’s always talking about him, it’s obvious how worried he is about him all the time, just the masochism jumping out once again you’re sure. You know all of these things, that you and Karkat still aren’t over each other, that he trusts Gamzee with his life, that Gamzee trusts him with his, and yet you keep coming back. You come back over and over and over again because there’s nothing else you can do. That’s what you keep telling yourself. 

Gamzee slips a second finger in and curls them both. He tweaks your nipple under your shirt and the feeling shoots straight to your cunt. Fuck. You kiss him, and when you do you remember the reasons why you keep coming back. You remember how good all of this feels, you remember how that ache subsides. Everything is easier when you just focus on him, on his body and your pleasure. 

He thrusts inside of you before he takes a thumb to your clit. That’s what really does it. You feel your thighs tremble and his thumb keeps moving in these slow, smooth circles that make you want to kill him, or maybe just finish the job yourself. He’s moving too slowly, you want him to pick up the pace-he has to pick up the face. There’s this urgent, mounting sense of _need_ that you feel right in your core and it’s building building building right on top of itself. You jerk your hips forward and watch as his eyes become sharper, he always gets like this when you’re desperate, and dumbly you realize that he’s probably getting sexual pleasure out of this. 

”Could you move any slower?” 

Your tone is snippy and all he does is laugh. 

You pull his head back and practically growl out faster. That’s what gets a response, the circles are tighter, faster, you feel sparks running even faster through your body and suddenly you see a flash of blue. It’s Vriska in her sweater, the one she always wears, the one that you gave her on her tenth birthday. She’s grinning at you, eyes bright in the night and teeth eerily white. She’s beautiful. You’ve always thought she was beautiful. Gamzee picks up the pace, rubbing your clit with his thumb and fucking you with his fingers. You think about the night you and Vriska kissed and the day after. You think about how she treats you and how she treats Tavros and all of your other friends. Your mind runs fast with her and the color blue and then suddenly you’re thinking about Aradia in her red bathing suit and Karkat in his black sweater and you think about all the people who you’ve loved so much and lost and betrayed. Your mind is running so fast and that feeling of urgency mounts until finally it reaches a head. You cum right around Gamzee’s fingers with a whimper before your hands drop from his hair and instead touch the cool of the back of his seat. 

You’re panting into his neck and all he does is sit there with his hand in your pants. 

Neither of you say anything. 

Instead, you take your time before he pulls his hands out, shiny and pruned just a little. There was a time when the sight of it made you feel flush, now you’re just plain nauseated with yourself, as always. As you’re buttoning your pants, the bell rings, and you immediately grab your bag to leave. Gamzee’s staring at you still, he’s still hard. You’ll have to pay for it later, but for now you’re prepared to do your walk of shame to AP Lit rather than be caught blowing a clown. 

You grip the handle of your bag tight and walk right up the isle to the doors. 

”A motherfucker will all up and see you next time” 

You wish you could say you won’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi kudos, comments, etc are greatly appreciated and there is a 99% chance that if you comment I'll reply.
> 
> @tamyura_on twt  
> @porcelain_babies on insta


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